Where Foxes Say Goodnight by Sam Burns

Author:Sam Burns [Burns, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-04T16:00:00+00:00

fourteen

It was only another moment before Gentry was pulling open the driver-side door and tugging me out of the car. I fell into his arms, shaking and struggling to breathe properly, and he wrapped himself around me, holding me tight, whispering assurances that I was okay.

Then the first sheriff’s car arrived, a beautiful Black woman in the expected tan uniform stepping out and coming around to see us.

“Everything all right?” was the first thing she asked, and that was . . . nice.

But of course it couldn’t end there. A man had dragged himself out of the passenger seat of the car, and he scoffed. “Of course it ain’t all right, looks like Fox got sauced and got himself in an accident.”

“Nobody’s sauced,” Gentry spat back, giving the guy a glare before turning back to the woman. He took an exaggerated sniff of the air around us. “Smell the brake fluid? He was trying to pull out onto the road and the brakes went to mush.”

The male deputy snorted. “Right. Somebody in this town cut Mr. Fancy’s brake line. Seems likely.”

That, naturally, was when the second cop car pulled up.

I didn’t know whether that was good or bad, and clearly the female deputy didn’t either, her shoulders stiffening as she turned to look at the car. She relaxed immediately, smiling at the older man who climbed out of the driver’s seat. “Harvey, there any way to get a look at the brake line in this position? Gentry thinks maybe it was tampered with.”

The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but he came over, that easy country-boy saunter in his step, and squatted down next to the front end of the car. Like Gentry, he took a deep sniff of the air. “Well the brake line’s definitely cut now, whether it was before the accident or not.” He turned back to her, clearly deferring to her authority. “Never heard of anything like it happening in town, but if Gentry says it happened, I believe him. Not like him to drive drunk.”

“No,” she agreed. “It’s not.”

“Oh, come on,” her partner said, voice loud and whiny and fucking grating while I was still trying not to panic. “Cut brakes? This ain’t a movie. Things like that don’t happen in Welling.”

Fuck.

“Someone broke into my house last night and tried to smother me with my pillow,” I told them, barely managing to force out the words. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t call the cops because it seemed too ridiculous. Plus he didn’t force the lock, so the closest thing I have to proof is skid marks in the driveway.”

“What the hell?” Gentry demanded, pulling away far enough to look me over, like he could find an injury that didn’t exist. “You gotta tell the cops a thing like that, Max.”

“But isn’t it ridiculous? Like he said, it’s a tiny town with a murder rate of literal zero. I know, I checked. I got here a week ago. Why the heck would anyone be trying

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